Sunday Morning (again)
Sunday, 9:30 am
The meadow is here for us alone this morning. No other wanderers, no other dogs. The wind chills my throat, and I tuck in my shawl again, better. Our dog, having a covid-fur after skipping two grooming appointments, doesn’t notice the cold and happily runs wherever her nose leads her. She knows this meadow in a completely different way than I do, mostly by scent, and she feels at home with all the messages she smells and sends out.
The sky is empty and my lungs half full, having interrupted my morning nebulizing session in dedication to the dogs enthusiasm. Walking is slow, trying not to get out of breath too much and dosing every breath to a certain amount of steps intuitively. It’s only a short walk, hardly one mile. Yet how refreshing it is! The body wakes up fully to the direct experience of the elements and the surrounding. Thoughts and feelings slipping away, nature merges with nature into completeness.
Two mute swans majestically glide along the water. They belong together, we have met before. Perhaps this spring they will make a nest and raise their youngins in this local brook, in stead of moving to other places like last years. Four pairs of eyes look at each other in a glimpse of recognition and, honoring their name, the birds silently swim away.
Before long I find myself opening the door of our apartment, being welcomed by the smell of fresh coffee and croissants – and by Debbie’s loving smile. Sitting on the couch, I resume my morning routine. The soft sounds of the nebulizer merge with those of my breaths – and completeness arises again.
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